


Games

by thelilging



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilging/pseuds/thelilging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: “You and your friends have been playing the penis game in the library for the last five minutes and none of you have gotten above a quiet yell and I'm really just trying to study over here so I'm gonna put an end to this by winning the game”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this on tumblr and lol'd, primarily because I can relate to Clarke's frustration on a deep emotional level. God bless high school boys, am I right?

Clarke Griffin likes to think that she is a patient person. It takes a hell of a lot of patience to be student council president as a sophomore on an executive board otherwise filled with seniors. It takes even more patience to put up with her mother's constant fluttering about the house as she flits to and from shifts at the hospital. And let's not talk about those amateurs who call themselves her lacrosse teammates. But Jesus Christ, even Mother Teresa would lose her shit with how those idiotic senior boys have been playing the freaking penis game for thirty minutes without getting above a whisper-yell. How is that even possible?!

The boys sit at a table in the back of the library. There are maybe half a dozen of them, their chairs crowded unevenly around the too-small table. It's the usual suspects: John Murphy, who even Clarke knows is their high school's resident drug dealer; Jasper Jordan, likely Murphy's most recent customer if the drooping of his eyes are any indication; Monty Green, the math genius who somehow manages to hang around that crowd while maintaining his status as National Honor Society president and student council co-vice president; Nathan Miller, the only one Clarke considers to be mildly tolerable; and finally Bellamy Blake, the group's ringleader and the bane of Clarke's existence.

“ _Penis!_ ”

Bellamy's fan club snickers at his (in Clarke's opinion) weak attempt. Mrs. Abernathy, the schools's drooping and always-oblivious librarian, blows her nose and goes back to reading _Cosmo_ under her desk. She thinks she's sneaky, but Clarke's onto her.

And, okay, maybe Clarke is a little biased against Bellamy's penis-yelling skills. He plays lacrosse for the boys team and has done nothing but make her first year as a captain on the girls lacrosse team miserable. Apparently carpainting the girls' cars and tping their houses once a week for the _entire season_ is funny. And the fact that the other girls never fail to swoon over the fact that _the_ Bellamy Blake _touched_ their cars and _knows where they live_ does nothing but piss Clarke off even more. As if the asshole needs an ego boost.

Clarke has been sending dirty looks in the boys' direction for the past thirty minutes. The semester is halfway through, and the group has only gotten worse as time has passed. Nevermind the fact that this is a _study hall_ , which Clarke relies on to do the schoolwork for her four Advanced Placement and two honors classes.

“ _Penis!_ ”

Clarke scoffs audibly at Murphy's try. Is that really the best he can do? She forces herself to pay attention to the paragraph about entropy in her AP Chemistry textbook that she has read approximately thirteen times by now. Entropy... disorder... the stupid boys cause way too much _disorder_ in her study hall. Clarke snickers at her own joke before realizing exactly how pathetic it is that she's laughing at a joke that is _chemistry-based_. That sobers her up real quick.

“ _Penis!_ ”

Jesus fucking Christ. That is it. Clarke has officially been pushed over the edge.

“PENIS!” she bellows.

The entire room goes silent, save for the echo of her outburst in the high arches of the library ceiling. The boys stare at her with slack jaws. Even Mrs. Abernathy has been startled out of her illicit magazine.

Clarke slams her book shut and stomps out of the room, ignoring Mrs. Abernathy as the old woman clambers to throw a detention slip at her. She's halfway down the hallway before she hears the sound of footsteps jogging after her.

“Clarke!”

She recognizes his voice immediately and pauses, debating whether she can sprint to the end of the hallway before Bellamy catches her. His legs are long, she decides regretfully, and he's a sprinter in track during the spring season, if she remembers correctly. She has no chance of escape. Knowing him, he'd probably follow her into the women's bathroom if she tried to avoid him that way.

Clarke turns slowly, lip curling automatically at the sight of Bellamy closing in on her, his trademark lazy smile playing across his face.

“What do you want?” she sighs.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows and stops in front of her, arms crossed across his ~~impressive~~  chest. “That was badass.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Clarke turns and starts down the hallway, but Bellamy grabs her arm, pulling her to an ungraceful stop.

“Hey!” he protests. “What the hell?”

Clarke yanks her arm out of Bellamy's grasp and glowers at him as she takes a wary step backwards. “I have better things to do than sit around and listen to legal adults with the maturity level of prepubescent boys attempt to play a game that insults everyone in that room's intelligence.”

“Uh, English, please?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Bye, Bella-”

“I'm _joking_. Relax.”

“Is there something in particular you want?” Clarke snaps. “Because I have a giant AP Chem test to study for and it was impossible to concentrate in there and you're not making it any easier to study out here.”

Bellamy raises one eyebrow. “AP Chem?”

“Yes!”

“What unit?”

Clark rubs the bridge of her nose, reminding herself that having an assault on her permanent record will definitely _not_ help her get into Stanford. “Entropy,” she sighs.

“Want a tutor?”

“You've _got_ to be kidding me.”

Bellamy scowls. “Fine, if you don't want the flashcards that helped me ace that test...”

“Wait,” Clarke gasps, mouth hanging open in shock, “ _you_ took AP Chem? And _aced_ the entropy test?”

“I'm going to pretend like I'm not offended at your severe underestimation of my intelligence, Princess.”

“Princess?” she asks sourly.

“If the shoe fits,” Bellamy teases with a small shrug. “Now do you want me to tutor you or not?”

Clarke regards the dark-haired boy standing in front of her suspiciously. “What's in it for you?”

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “I'm starting to apply to college,” he says. “A tutoring gig would look good. Y'know, helping the less fortunate and all that.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean, that's cool if you don't want it,” Bellamy says casually, raising his hands up in surrender. “I'm sure I can find another AP Chem kid to help set the curve...”

“Bellamy Blake, I will murder you!”

Bellamy grins. “Excellent. Our first session is today after school.”

“Maybe that doesn't work for me,” Clarke says petulantly. It does, but she kind of likes the half-amused, half-annoyed look Bellamy gives her when she makes his life difficult.

“Well, you don't really have a choice,” Bellamy smirks. He pulls two pink detention slips out of his pocket and holds them up smugly. “See you after school, Princess.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
